Don Pendleton - Continental Contract

Bolan experienced a deep irritation. He growled, "What film are you doing right now?"

She pulled away, sobering quickly. "I apologize, stand-in."

Quickly he said, "No, I'm the one that's wrong. I, uh... thanks for getting me out of that mess back there."

Following a moment of silence, she told him, "I can speak the English better. I know 'ow."

He smiled. "You're still dropping your h's."

She made a long face and replied, "The h is not a French sound. I will nevair do the huuah — it is like throwing out something that is not wanted. Language is the same as life, as love — it is a giving of something treasured, something of great value. I will not give it with the huuah."

Bolan sighed. She was telling him something while not actually saying it. A point of ethics. He said, "Okay, Cici, I'm the fraud. And you could be in great danger. I'm going to fade away when we reach the edge of town."

"No! I do not wish that you fade away!"

He glanced at her and said, "Look, this is no film, it's raw life. And you might find out just how raw it can get. I can't..."

"No!" She moved back onto his shoulder. "Take me to Cannes, stand-in. I have a villa — a 'ouse on the coast." She nuzzled his arm and added, "The raw life is there also."

Bolan could believe it. He silently debated the question, finding it more and more difficult to face what he knew to be the proper decision. He had no right to involve this woman in his difficulties, yet he could not find the strength of character to refuse her demands that he do so. They drove on in a continuing silence and suddenly they were whizzing along free and clear on the highway to Lyon and she was snuggled against him — the decision was lost by default — and Bolan was telling himself that he would get out at the next town.

At that next town he found that she was quietly sleeping, her soft and regular breath falling upon his neck just beneath the ear, and he went on through without slowing. The magic of her had its way and, by the time he made the first service stop, Bolan was telling himself that the danger lay behind them now, that there was no necessity for the noble sacrifice; and the golden moments of Eden were seeming more and more accessible and desirable and reasonable as a goal to pursue.

Cici awakened as he pulled into the service station, lightly brushed his throat with her lips, and got out to freshen herself.

Bolan stood by while the vehicle was being serviced, then he paid the attendant and went to the rest room. When he returned, a carton of soft drinks and a small bag of snacks were on the seat. Cici was in the telephone booth. She saw Bolan and immediately returned to the car. She said nothing, but began poking about in the bag of snacks. Bolan started the car and returned to the highway.

She opened a soft drink and handed it to him. "I was trying to call Paris," she told him.

He accepted the bottle and said, "Trying?"

"I did not get through."

Bolan accepted that without further question. She unwrapped a candy bar and gave it to him. "Turn on the next Route Nationale to your left. This will save us some time."

He nodded, slowed, and did as she suggested. Suddenly she surged over and kissed him lightly on the lips. He grinned and said, "What was that for?"

"For trusting me."

"Why shouldn't I trust you?"

She shrugged. "It is a world of distrust, is it not?"

He murmured, "Trust ends when doubt begins. Have you given me any reasons to doubt you, Cici?"

"No," she replied softly. "And 'ave you given Cici the reasons to betray you, stand-in?"

He chuckled and found himself relaxing. "I hope not, for both our sakes."

Bolan had not meant the remark as a threat. He realized, though, that it sounded like one. He felt her eyes on him but she said nothing. When he finished his drink she took the bottle from him and got onto her knees to place the carton and bag in the rear. Then she stayed that way and melted over against him, head on his shoulder, arms going about his neck. "Does this bothair your driving?" she whispered.

He replied, "Yes, but let it be bothered."

She laughed softly. "Do you truly have a gun?"

He said, "Yep," and unbuttoned his jacket.

Her fingers crawled down his chest and lightly caressed the pistol grip. "You do not break Cici's arm?" she asked, faintly mocking.

"Not yet," he replied.

"But when?"

He chuckled. "Don't put me on the spot, Cici."

She withdrew the hand and left it lying across his waist. Bolan drove on in silence. Some minutes later he decided that she was again sleeping. He used one arm to try to gently rearrange her on the seat. She clung to him. He sighed and merely held her clutched to him, and they went on that way until the outskirts of Lyon.

The sun was up and the city was coming alive. Bolan stopped again for service and the girl quietly disentangled herself. He asked her, "Have a nice nap?"

"I was not sleeping," she said. Her eyes flashed playfully and she added, "You are vairy 'andsome when deep in thought, did you know this?"

He gently squeezed her arm and said, "You couldn't even see me."

"One sees with more than one's eyes, stand-in." She pushed herself away and out the door.

Bolan watched her enter another telephone booth, then he gave instructions to the station man and got out to stretch himself. She was still in the booth when he went to the rest room, and she was still there when he returned. He paid the bill and moved the car clear of the pumps.

When Cici finally returned to the car he casually asked, "Get through okay this time?"

She dropped a folded newspaper in the floor and replied, "Yes."

He put the car in motion and the trip was resumed. When they were clear of Lyon and again rolling free, she told him, "I also call Cannes. To 'ave the villa made ready."

Bolan had no comment to this. She pulled her legs beneath her and knelt on the seat, facing him. He glanced at her and smiled. "You make me self-conscious," he told her. "What are you looking at?"

She laughed lightly and said, "This was your idea. I, too, can sit and look, cheri."

Bolan laughed, then silence descended for several minutes. Presently she said, "For many years I 'ave 'eard the rumors of young girls disappearing from the streets of France. Do these tales reach America?"

He replied, "Probably not. We have enough of our own disappearing. Why?"

"Why? Well, I jus' wondair if you believe them, such tales. It is said that girl-stealers keednap these girls and sell them in Africa. The white slave markets. Do you believe this?"

Bolan shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't disbelieve it. Lot of rotten things happen, Cici."

"Officially these rumors are disclaimed. Not one year ago such stories were discussed in the newspapairs and declared false. Jus' now, when I call Paris, I 'ear another of these stories. It sounds most diabolical."

Bolan did not comment. He wondered if she was simply making conversation. She seemed to be studying his face for reactions. She went on. "I am told that ten all at once 'ave been spirited away this time. A 'ouse full of girls, from the Latin Quarter. A 'ouse on Rue Galande."

She got her reaction. A muscle quivered in Bolan's jaw and he said, "That sounds like more film stuff, Cici. Where'd you get a story like that?"

"It is being repeated throughout Paris. It is said that gangstairs were killed at this 'ouse by a man called L'Executioner. These girls were thought to 'ave 'elped this man. As punishment, the gangstair boss is 'ave these girls stolen and sent on the underground trail to Algiers."

Bolan saw his Eden rapidly disappearing, flaring out like a shooting star in a black sky. His foot moved from the accelerator to the brake and the big car rolled to a smooth halt.